Sahara Desert, Africa.
Sweat poured down the man’s temple as he
charged down the steep sand dune upon his monstrous, black steed. Raging gales
of dust blew his black cloak furiously behind him, as he struggled against the
sand storm. The howling winds screamed bloody murder, reminding the man of
horrendous yet exhilaration sounds of battle. Cries of death. Of agony. Of
torture. A small, cruel smile played on his pale lips at the thought. The man
shoved his broad sword into its sheath, gripped the reins with both hands and
urged his stallion up the gentle slope. The winds died down, coming to a
complete and sudden stop. Once the man
reached the top of the dune, he then fiercely pulled on the reins. Bringing
his horse to a halt. More sweat trickled down his well built chest. The raging,
desert heat made his mouth parch dry.
He sighed, his amber eyes narrowed under
the brim of his hood. Scanning the
endless sea of desert. His gaze traveled to the blistering, blood red sun that
now set beyond savanna horizon.
He waited.
My
name is Death, he thought. A slow satisfied smile spread on his hidden
features, And I’ve come to bring death.
Why?
Because I’m
obsessed with death. The giving up of one’s
soul. The ever present cries of agony,
spine-tingling moans, the very last breath. Silence. . . The confused look on a human face when they
know they must bow to me___the fear clouding their eyes when they
taste death. I love death because people fear death. And I love fear. He snickered, relishing
the looming thought. Everything about me
is death. My kingdom is death, my very breath is death. Everything I touch
becomes dead. I AM death. And fear, keeps me alive.
A gust of wind blew overhead, accompanied
by the sound of hooves, thundering behind the man named Death. Nonchalantly, he
pulled his hood. Revealing the oddly beautiful features, yet marred by the
scars of war. He mounted off his charger, still facing the Western Horizon; “My
kingdom come . . .” Death murmured under his breath and let his whisper to be
carried off by the wind.
“Indeed. . .” came a low, grutal voice.
“Brother,” he replied, his taloned hand on
his sword, “you are late.” Death then spun around to face his brother, a gleam
in his amber eyes. His brother stared
grimly back at him, with grey nearly white eyes. His features concealed under a
white hood.
“What brings you here to my dominion,
Death?” His voice purred, tinged with contempt. Hadez paused, heaving in a
massive breath, the snarled, “Ordering me around as if you were the King of
Perdition himself? All his Majesty’s honor getting to your head? Hmm?”
Death chuckled mockingly, relishing Hadez’
jealousy. “I’m simply passing by the area, my gullible brother,” he sneered,
then added, “If I had the choice, I’d rather not have your shameless naïveté’s
tag along on my mission.”
Hadez stiffened at Death’s insult, “Enough! Just get to the point Death.”
Death grinned coyly, “Our time has come,
brother. Everything has been prepared by our Master’s Occultists. Our kingdom
foretold is now ready to wreak its havoc on these wretched humans. Two thirds
of them , the least.”
Hadez snarled, his husky voice hissed, “You
know very good and well, that the Elohites will never allow us, the Fallen, to
break the tenants of Eyaluth’s Word. It’s strictly forbidden, the penalty will
be worse than Tartarus itself. Your scheme to annihilate two thirds of the sons
of Adam will never succeed,” his voice slurred, his beady eyes narrowing
dangerously.
“Aw, but you see Hadez; that is where your
naïveté comes in,” Death quirked an eyebrow, “That demur of yours will one day
earn your rightful place in the Abyss,” he spat. Hadez was just about to answer
him back but Death interrupted him, “No matter, you will be of some use to the
Master’s cause for now. Let’s get to
business, shall we?”
The two brothers glared at each other,
severe, unyielding. Finally Death spoke.
“Lucifer has planned to manipulate the
Electus Quinque to annihilate the extra
two hundred fifty million of Earth’s population. They are weak, to win them
over will not be the challenge in our mission.”
“I’m telling you, Eyaluth will not allow
it!” Hadez thundered, losing patience, “The Writings says that only one fourth
of the human race is appointed to us. It
is plain suicide to go against the Scripts!”
“Your paranoia clouds your judgment, brother,” Death snarled. But then he relaxed,
his frustration subsiding. Death placed both hands on Hadez’ shoulders, “Don’t
you see? One fourth is not enough for Lucifer’s demands. We, the Fallen, must
do what is necessary for our kingdom,” Death’s words spun like silk. “The times
has come when rules do not apply___ this is necessary for our
survival.” Without warning Death suddenly grasped Hadez’ shoulders and pressed
his chest against his own. His lips pressed against Hadez’ ear. Hadez flinched.
A sinister smile glimmered on Death’s lips, “You wouldn’t want to disappoint
the King of Perdition, would you?” He hissed, his voice laced with venom, “You
better recheck where your loyalties lie my brother . . . It might cost you to
forfeit your rank and metals of honor,” he paused for effect, smirking, “Or
your head.”
Hadez shrugged him off, his features
fierce, but he shuddered visibly.
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